Pale Hand of Fate Aiming the Blade
by Ramzes
Summary: Finally, everything in Dyanna Dayne's life is the way it should be. Until it suddenly isn't. Because the foe that almost killed her once is back. Part 14 of The Flash of a Star: The Dyanna Dayne Chronicles.
1. Chapter 1

**Pale Hand of Fate Aiming the Blade**

Chapter 1

When all was said and done, Dyanna had to admit that she had lost precious time overblowing her concerns. Despite the eventful start of their settling into Summerhall, the unrest had been dealt with much easier than she had expected. Many still mourned the loss of loot from skirmishes but they had learned to appreciate the stability and certainty coming from knowing that their crops would stay in their possessions, unburned. That trade on both sides of the Marches was something that many could avail themselves of. That they had every chance to go to bed at night without waking up to the roof above burning and the cattle being taken away. That taxes would be collected without much ado. Gradually, the processions Maekar and Dyanna undertook a few times a year turned to be less harrowing experiences than they had used to. At times, she almost felt as if she were visiting friends, from both sides of the Red Mountains.

Except for Starfall.

"How could you let her go?" Ultor demanded, furious, and Dyanna rose angrily, glaring at him right back.

"I didn't _let her go_ ," she snapped. "Do you think I would have just smiled and waved goodbye?"

"Frankly?" he asked. "Yes. You must have known, Dyanna, else she would have been here and she isn't."

Dyanna wanted to deny it. That was not true. Still, something held her back. Hadn't she known? Truly? She knew what she, herself, had been capable of. Why hadn't she assumed that Astrea could be just as reckless? Had she been so engrossed in her own fears, her own happiness, her own little world that she had missed the very obvious warning signs?

"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" she exclaimed resentfully. "You just handed her over to me and then oh, it's all Dyanna's fault and you're as pure as driven snow…"

He looked at her uncomprehendingly and she realized that she had used an imagery that was not typical of Dorne. The divide between them seemed to grow.

"I let her go with you because I thought you might make a lady out of her," Ultor elaborated. "I should have known that instead, you'll make her a liar and traitor."

Dyanna flushed and clenched her fists, realizing painfully that he was right. But by the grace of the Seven hadn't she caused a new tension between Dorne and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms… and it wasn't late now either. It would only take one of her misplaced letters to emerge…

"How dare you!" she flared up.

Her brother wasn't impressed. "You didn't even need to teach her being one," he allowed. "Just watching and emulating you would have sufficed. You know that she thinks you a hero and let's face it, Dyanna, you would have run away with the first stableboy if Maekar wasn't pleasing to you."

"How so?" Maekar asked, entering the solar. "I thought you'd have Astrea to talk about instead of discussion our marriage," he added, looking at his wife.

"We have nothing to discuss," Dyanna stated and took his arm. "Take me to our chambers, now. I'm tired."

Ultor didn't try to stop her.

Later, they patched things up, of course, but it just wasn't the same. When Astrea's letters started arriving one after another, Dyanna wrote a short answer to the first one wishing her sister joy of her new life but she didn't answer any of the following ones. After a while, she stopped reading them and after some time later, Astrea stopped sending them. Dyanna felt a mix of relief and sadness as the new babe swelled in her, moving with life as she went on about her usual duties, smoothing tensions, taking young girls into her household to teach them manners, examining the accounts of her household, overseeing the children's education, being charming and presentable, always next to Maekar when needed. Always mindful that she should be charming enough for both of them. Fortunately, it wasn't hard for her, although this last babe was doing odd things to her body. Her cheeks were now extremely hollowed and her body strangely corpulent. But her allurement seemed untouched. Only she knew how much keeping the image cost her – she and Maekar who now doubled his care and attention to her. But he couldn't help her. Fortunately, it all came back in place when the child was born, another son and not the daughter they had both hoped for.

"Next time," Dyanna said, smiling, as she was holding and snuggling her new babe. "It'll be a girl next time."

Maekar nodded, blissfully unaware of the strange premonition that suddenly told Dyanna that this still unconceived babe would be her last.

* * *

Mock reading.

That was one the last clear memories that Dyanna treasured of something good, bright and hers, something to keep her warm and full of willpower in the dark days that followed. Aemon, just over three, pretending to read to Daella who was staring at him fascinated from her cushions and interrupting him with her own "reading". Safely away from the noise, Daeron, for once relieved of the nightmares that had started plaguing him once again, had curled himself in a ring around the babe, Aegon, under the watchful eye of Aegon's wetnurse. Dyanna lowered herself on a couch and Aemon and Daella immediately crawled to sit down at her feet, book and all. Daeron and Aegon didn't wake up.

"Sword or mace?" Dyanna asked with interest some time later as she went out to watch Aerion's practice in the yard.

"Morningstar, I think," he replied but didn't let the sword down. Instead, he doubled his efforts, trying to impress her, before squinting at her. "Are you feeling well, Mother?" he asked, concern ringing in his voice.

"Yes," she replied but he wasn't the first person to tell her this.

"Do you think I look ill?" she asked later that night when she was preparing for bed. That strange corpulence had returned. Now, she looked downright obese and she could feel the splashing of water that was too much for a babe. Too early as well. Could she be carrying twins? She shivered in superstitious fear remembering the fate of Daemon Blackfyre's twins.

'No," Maekar denied. "Just tired."

Surely there was nothing to worry about? It was fine for Dyanna to be exhausted. The discrepancy between her bulging belly and the thinning extremities was to be expected of a woman with child, especially one who had been so every year in the last four. It was just now that he discovered her true loveliness. Her body might be bloated and her skin splashed with brown patches but her beauty lay in the contours of her face and the light deep within those violet eyes between the thick long eyelashes, in the liveliness and wit of her conversation and her way to make everyone feel like the most important person around. Truly, she was still Dyanna. Just a tired one. He had already decided that this child would be their last, though. The hardships of constant pregnancies had finally started to take too much from her.

"Still the loveliest lady around," he added and she snorted.

"That's easy for you to say," she said. "I don't think there are any ladies here, in those wild marshes."

But now, there was no derision in her voice. It was just a jest.

"Come here," Maekar said but instead, it was him who went to her and held her tight. Dyanna felt that everything was fine once again.

And then, it all turned into a nightmare. It was _that_ nightmare coming back. The day her beloved attendant Saryl Lothston left with her new husband, presents and grants from Maekar and Dyanna heavy in their chests, Dyanna felt it again. The lump. In her disfigured breast, now swollen by the new babe. She didn't quite scream but she was close to that. The babe stirred, then tumbled and Dyanna's fear for herself was immediately replaced by the desperate horror of realizing that her child was now living with the disease.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks, pinke289, for reviewing!**

 _Pale Hand of Fate Aiming the Blade_

Chapter 2

"What time is it?" she asked when she woke up.

"It's almost night," Maekar replied, coming over to the bed and frowning at her. "You didn't dine today."

Dyanna looked at him. "I didn't?"

In her shaded room, with milk of the poppy clouding her mind and lulling her to sleep, it wasn't unusual for her to skip a meal. She didn't look at her bedside, for the sight of cold and unappealing food was sure to make her gorge rise.

"No," her husband said. "You didn't. You last took tea with my mother, remember?"

Dyanna frowned and then smiled. "Yes! Yes, I do."

She was pleased that she did. Usually, milk of the poppy let her memory quite blurry and she preferred dreamwine but it wasn't always possible. Gingerly, she looked at her right but Mariah was nowhere to be seen.

"She stayed here for a while after my arrival and then she went to the children," Maekar supplied and Dyanna was glad. She wanted the children's lives to be as uninterrupted by this ordeal as possible. She pushed the cover away and reached for the bandage.

"Here," Maekar said. "Let me."

They were eager to change it before the pain returned but it seemed that there would be some time before that happened, so after bathing her breast with water and potions, Maekar took her in his arms and carried her to the coach near the window where he sat down, still holding her. His fear grew. The lump would break in a lesion soon and Dyanna's whole breast, or what was left of it, was swollen, discoloured or purplish-brown. The stench was already arising. Further down, her belly was sticking out disproportionately. When Maekar touched it, he didn't feel the babe. He never did. Just the sloshing of water that was way, way too much. The marks the five children had left on her were stretched beyond limit and weeping blood.

"I feel good with you," Dyanna murmured, not quite opening her eyes.

"So do I, Dyanna. So do I."

She moved a little, looked at him, and a smile lit her face up, turning her into the Dyanna she had been just a year ago, as it always did when she was thusly reassured. "She moved," she breathed. "She's moving."

"Is she?" Maekar asked, feeling her belly again. Nothing but water. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Dyanna but he'd feel much calmer if he could feel the movement for himself.

Dyanna snuggled close. "Yes," she said. "She's fine. All will be fine. Don't worry."

"I won't," Maekar promised, knowing that this was what he was doing every moment of every day. His focus of worry, though, was different than hers. While she was frantically worried about the babe, he was usually reminded that there was a babe only when he saw her, with her bulging belly and her waiting for the child to move. He'd gladly sacrifice ten unborn babes just to know that she'd be fine – and she wasn't. She was getting worse. The thought of returning to his life as it had been before her but this time with five children to take care for alone was so terrible that he couldn't even fully form it. He couldn't think of it. Not yet. The red priestess was due to arrive any day now. She had cut the vile thing from Dyanna before. She'd do it again.

"Do you want to have your meal now?" Maekar asked and Dyanna hesitated. The very thought of food made her stomach churn but for the babe, it was better for her to eat and throw up than not eat at all.

"Yes," she finally said. "Just wait for a while."

The pain still hasn't started rushing back. She wanted to stay like this, stay with him for as long as she could. Her fingers covered his palm over her hip.

"A letter arrived. From Astrea," Maekar said. "She wants to visit you."

Dyanna hesitated. Her sister's wish did not surprise her. By now, the word of her illness must have spread around and the Queen's arrival from King's Landing had undoubtedly given the rumours an additional weight. She wanted to see Astrea, even if it would be their last time together. But by the time her sister could arrive, she'd be in no state to see anyone. She was already failing even now. With the advance of the disease, people exhausted her. Especially the ones she loved and was loved by. Their pain upset her and tears sapped the energy she needed to keep fighting.

"Perhaps later," she murmured, feeling selfish and weak.

 _Perhaps never_ , they both thought.

* * *

"When can you cut the growth out?"

"Immediately."

The red woman's answer was immediate as well but she had managed to give it a meaning that made Maekar look at her sharply. "What is it?" he asked.

She hesitated; surprised, he got the sudden feeling that she was trying to be careful out of sympathy that she didn't know how to express. "Just say it," he said roughly.

In the green room with a deep violet shade of the carpet, the small solar that Dyanna had put so much thought and love in, Raniel of Asshai looked out of place. She wetted her lips, not quite looking at him.

"If it has come back once, it will return again," she finally said.

Dyanna's mother gave a shrill cry, as if her heart was breaking.

Maekar didn't say anything. This confirmation of his worst fears pushed him like a physical force; only his quick reflexes let his hand find the edge of the table to steady himself.

"And then, there is the matter of the babe," the red priestess went on, eager to tell them all of it and be done with it. "There is a big danger… in fact, a certainty… that a cutting this big would affect the unborn child. The birth will start earlier… and this early on, the babe won't survive."

"To the seven hells with the babe," Ultor Dayne spat and his mother gasped.

"Ultor! How can you!"

But Maekar shared the sentiment entirely. "If the choice is between the babe and a few more years for Dyanna, I know what I choose," he said. "I don't give a damn about the babe. Dyanna is the one that matters."

He felt foul for saying it but that was the truth. Lady Elsbeth started weeping, seeing the truth of it. Ultor nodded grimly.

* * *

"No."

"The maesters are here already and after a few days of chosen food you'll be ready to be subjected to…" Only now, the word registered with him and Maekar stared at her. "No? What do you mean, no?"

"I don't want to have it removed," Dyanna said. "Not now."

For a moment, he thought the dreamwine was playing tricks on her mind. But the eyes staring back at him were wide and alert.

"There are only two months until the babe arrives," Dyanna went on. "If they cut it off now, they'll kill her."

"If they don't, it'll kill you!"

It was true. Dyanna's health was deteriorating much faster than the last time and Maekar knew it was the combined effect of the disease and babe sapping her strength. She was now constantly feverish, her face gaunt, her nose sharpened. Her belly was severely bloated, resembling a frog's one. Water gained by the illness, the maesters said. Her fingers were so thin that they could not hold her rings anymore. Bones were incised in her face. The smell of pus and rot coming from her was such that they kept a window constantly opened. Soon, few people would be able to set a foot here without throwing up. As fearsome as this thought was, the prospect of a life of everlasting loneliness pierced by the searing memory of sparkling violet eyes and a genuine smile meant for him was looming ahead larger and larger.

"It's going to kill me anyway, eventually," Dyanna said with this impossibly, infuriatingly reasonable voice of hers. "Am I going to have it cut away every few years, or what? When I have no breast anymore – what then? It'll kill me either way."

And then, her face changed, her fingers clasped his with the strength of despair and fervent hope. She even tried to sit up in bed despite her bedsores. "Please, I want her to live! Give her a chance! I'll do anything, I'll do my best…"

In the flickering light of the single candle Dyanna could still tolerate, Maekar realized that he had no chance to convince her. But wasn't this one of the reasons he had chosen to wed her – because she had a mind of her own and would defend it with all she had? And still, he tried, he couldn't bear the danger she was placing herself in by insisting to wait. Two months were eternity. Two months were the difference between life and death, possibly.

* * *

By now, Dyanna could tell what time it was only by the intensity of the sunlight the very faint permeability of the heavy navy blue curtains allowed. When she wasn't put up to sleep by milk of the poppy or her own weariness, she would often lie in her bed and follow its fading with her own faded eyes. Sometimes, even the single candle intruded upon her thoughts and she didn't like it in daytime, at any rate. It made her feel like she was lying in her coffin already. Those who attended her had become used to the semi-darkness as well, although they couldn't discern the hour like she could – they didn't need to since they could always go out into the sun. Dyanna envied them that.

The Queen poured tea for both of them and handed Dyanna the cup. She drank gingerly through the pain that was now unrelenting.

"Thank you," she suddenly said. "For being here."

That was more than what her mother was capable of. Sometimes, Elsbeth Dayne's grief was just too great to let her step into Dyanna's chambers.

"This is where I want to be," Mariah said steadily. "No one in King's Landing needs me anyway."

Dyanna did. Her children did – and they would need their grandmother even more soon, she was almost sure.

"You'll be there for them, won't you?" she asked. "If I'm… unable to?"

Even now, the word _death_ was never mentioned between them. Or between her and Maekar, after that first clash. Despite her decline, Dyanna clung to hope… and she had youth on her side. She was still twenty six.

"It'll be you doing this," Mariah said, forcing a smile. "The babe will arrive soon and you'll be treated then. You'll both be fine."

She didn't believe it, though. The dark rings under Dyanna's eyes had almost claimed her entire face, accentuating its pallor. Her lips were almost invisible with discoloration, save for the red spots where she had bitten them, drawing blood. Her eyes were constantly red now. Mariah could feel the Stranger sitting in the room with them, waiting. And she was ready to do anything to thwart him, because of Dyanna and all those who would lose her.

"Promise me," the young woman insisted. "You must be there for them. If I don't…"

Once again, she couldn't say it. In the semi-darkness, she looked as white and fragile as a child.

"I will," the Queen promised, her throat constricting. Not for the first time, she thought that she was living into a nightmare. It couldn't be true. Young women like her goodaughter didn't die from the corroding disease. Maekar adored Dyanna. She was the first thing to make him truly happy, something that Mariah hadn't been able to do, ever. How would he take it if…? They had five children and perhaps a sixth one soon who needed their mother. Life was so very unfair. How was any of this possible?

Dyanna nodded. "Thank you," she said, as softly as if she were already on her deathbed. "Help me now. The children are coming to visit me soon."

* * *

Over the time, those visits were getting harder on Dyanna, although she longed for them. The windows were always open to let the smell out as much as possible. She took a little dreamwine so she wouldn't look as wracked by pain as she was and put some paint on her face to look just a bit less terrible. Then, she changed her nightgown for a robe and let herself be led to a couch. She wanted to convey the impression of greater health, to have her children remember her as smiling and healthy as she had been, just in case. By the look in Daeron and Aerion's eyes when they took her in and the way they often paused when telling her about their day, she knew it wasn't working.

Aemon and Daella never seemed to notice how ill their mother looked. They would bound to the couch to give her a kiss, press her ribs while rising back – they never seemed to realize that the bumps under the cover was her – and chatter endlessly, from time to time wrinkling their nose at the smell. Daeron and Aerion were better at pretending that they didn't notice it at all but Dyanna could feel the sad wonder in their eyes when they looked at her. Little Aegon became restless as soon as she reached out for him and Dyanna preferred to leave him in his nursemaid's arms anyway instead of taking the risk to drop him if the pain became unbearable.

At night, she burned with thirst, no matter how much water she drank. Fears chased after her in her dreams and Maekar was the only solid thing she could hold onto, the only one she wanted during the day when the pain became too much to bear. Gradually, her chambers emptied of almost anyone else and she was glad of that for the time she could still be glad of something. Soon, pain deprived her of much of her understanding of what was going on around her. And then, the day her child announced its arrival came and a flight of maesters, midwives, and Raniel of Asshai swooped in, ready to fight the Stranger for her.

* * *

The door opened so quickly that before Maekar could rise, the young woman was already halfway through the chamber. She didn't even pause and the white bundle she was carrying was so still that Maekar thought it was a dead burden and anger shook him. Dyanna had put herself through all of that for naught…

"It's a girl," Mariah said, emerging from the birthing chamber and coming to him. He stared at her. The babe was alive? He wouldn't have thought.

"How is Dyanna?" he asked sharply, Dyanna being the sole thing he was concerned about.

His mother looked away and grasped his hand.

The words poured over him, some of them meaningless, other cruelly clear. The ailment had spread through Dyanna's body, infecting her very womb eventually. When their daughter had emerged, the cord and afterbirth had been rotting with the disease and she had been stunned, so the maesters had instructed that she be taken away immediately. Dyanna was now unconscious and they were trying to bring her back…

"Did she see the child?" Maekar cut her off.

Mariah hesitated and looked down. "No, she didn't. When she started pushing, she had already swooned with pain and exhaustion. She didn't wake up for a moment."


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you, pinke289 and VVSINGOFTHECROSS, for your constant support of that series.**

 _Pale Hand of Fate Aiming the Blade_

Chapter 3

After some vigorous rubbing, the newborn babe gave a tiny wail. But her mother didn't come to know this. She stayed unconscious.

"She's suckling very well," Mariah said when, a few hours later, in the light of the first lamps, they had all gathered in Dyanna's solar. She and Jena looked like men-at-arms who had recently returned from a battle. Elsbeth Dayne resembled someone in a prolonged agony more than anything else. She was paler than Dyanna had been, something that shouldn't have been possible, especially with her olive skin, so different from her daughter's creamy one. "And she barely cries. Looks like she's busy sleeping. She's warm and alert and…"

"Good," Maekar said without much interest. "Aren't they going to leave already?" he asked and looked again at the closed door of the hall leading to Dyanna's bedchamber. The maesters and the red woman were taking so long, so very long.

"They've only been there since twilight," Jena said, and Maekar gave her a look of surprise.

"Are you sure? I think it's been longer than this."

She made no reply, focusing instead on the babe in her arms. Her failure to quicken with child again even briefly had made her fondness of newborns grow, so she was glad to have this warm, tiny weight to her breast. The little girl seemed content as well. Jena had noticed the wetnurse's fear of the newborn, her panic that the babe might have caught the terrible disease through the damaged cord and afterbirth and transfer it to her. The girl had only been too happy to let Jena hold the babe.

"You're so lovely," Jena murmured. "And with black hair already! You'll be the very image of your mother, I think. Don't you, Maekar?" she asked in a contrived way to get him away from his restless pacing.

"Yes," he answered without looking at the babe. Hus entire being was focused on the door, willing it to open.

"For a sand demon anyway," Ultor said. "I really don't understand why you needed to bring her here, Your Grace," he went on. "She's caused devastation enough already. Don't you think so?"

Under his derision, Jena blushed. He had no way of knowing about her jealousy of Dyanna. No way. And this jealousy had died the moment she had learned about the return of the lump. It had been lacking sting for years already. She didn't feel relieved that Dyanna would no longer be there to be compared to her favourably with her beauty, her charm, her healthy children. How could she? And yet years ago she had been full of the same resentment he was accusing her of now.

But she got help from a completely unexpected source. Maekar whirled about and glared at his goodbrother, his onetime friend. "If you please, Ultor, you can use this tone in Starfall. Not here! So, Jena, you were saying?"

"I was just saying that she'd beautiful," Jena replied smoothly, unwilling to deepen the tensions. Both Maekar and Ultor were on edge. Their worry for the same woman drove them apart, as sad as it was.

"And I was saying that you were a fool for listening to Dyanna," Ultor said angrily. "You've never suffered lack of determination when she wanted something that you didn't agree with but now, with her life at stake, you chose now to start respecting her wishes? She should have had the evil growth removed the day that priestess arrived!"

Since he was right, Maekar couldn't deny the accusation.

The silence lingered. The babe in Jena's arms stirred and she rocked her.

"What are you going to name her, Maekar?" the Queen asked, touching the soft newborn skin.

Her son looked at her as if she couldn't have possibly asked a stranger question.

"Tomorrow, we'll ask Dyanna," Elsbeth proclaimed and Mariah gave her a look of horror and sad sympathy. If she kept her delusions, it'll be even harder when… "It's her nameday tomorrow, you know," she went on. "She's going to be twenty-seven."

Mariah pressed a palm to her mouth to keep her sobs in.

The door opened and Maekar crossed the room immediately.

"We're doing all that we can," the old Maester said and the rest was clear.

Dyanna was lying in her bed in the same posture they had arranged her in. A long cover lay over her from neck down, hiding all the marks of the life-and-death struggle that she was losing. They had washed her immediately before leaving, or else the stench would have been much worse. Her glorious crown of black hair had been cut off weeks ago because it kept sweat in and made her uncomfortable in her fevers. Now, it didn't even reach her shoulders, lanky, sick and devoid of life. Maekar stared at her and remembered all those times he had seen the sun shining in her hair, held out a hand to touch it. "You shouldn't give up," he breathed, repeating the gesture now. Her hair was now as brittle as the rest of her, the hairs not either contrasting this much to his fair fingers. "You never did. Not in a single battle. And you won this one, too, you know. She's here. She's fine. Now, all you have to do is wait and get your strength back to have this thing cut off. You did it once. You can do it again. Please."

But her face remained blank, lacking any expression. Her eyelids didn't flitter. She simply didn't know that he was here. She didn't react to her mother's tears either. Her children's incredibility. She just started writhing in pain in her stupor but the dreamwine soothed her. And then, she passed away – on her twenty-seventh nameday.

* * *

"She's too young for it yet," Mariah said, smiling at Daeron. "But she will love it, I'm sure."

The bone pieces in the brightly painted wooden ball rattled when she took it. It looked strangely out of place with this room of dark fabrics and dark clothing, torn in mourning. Daeron was staring at his new sister with alternating curiosity and hostility but the Queen was glad that he had chosen to come and leave a present, after all. He didn't reach out to touch her, though, and Aerion stared at her with eyes full of hate. "She should have died," he announced and Mariah gasped and barely managed to keep herself from slapping him. "Mother left because of her."

Even now, he said the word _left_ , instead of _dead_. Children didn't perceive death for what it was. Especially when it was about their mothers. Even when they had seen the pyre engulf their remains. Suddenly, she wanted to weep again and almost did.

"What are you going to name her?" she asked in one of the rare instances when she managed to see Maekar. Indeed, managed to see him was too docile a phrase. She'd been waiting for him at the window for hours, for he didn't want to see anybody and talked to no one if it could be avoided.

"I don't know." Maekar's voice was hoarse, unused. He looked at her without seeing her. _I don't care_ , he didn't even care to say. "Name her as you wish."

He turned back and strode away before she could say a name or seize his hand and stop him. He hadn't slept in days. He looked as if his body had gone numb, as if he wanted to pick up a fight with someone as he had with Ultor Dayne the very day of the funeral. He avoided her as he had avoided everyone. And he still hadn't looked at the babe even when he came across Mariah or Jena with the tiny being in their arms. In Mariah's mind, that was the worst of all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks, VVSINGOFTHECROSS and pinke289, for staying with me till the end.**

 _Pale Hand of Fate Aiming the Blade_

Chapter 4

The pyre hadn't been her first wish. Everyone knew about her desire for a sea funeral – rowing a boat into the azure waters of the Summer Sea and lowering her body gently into the waves, disturbing the white foam and reaching the cobalt deep under, so the fish could have a feast as she had feasted on them all her life. But this plan had included a healthy body that would have been of some use. And anyway, she had talked about it years ago, when death had looked so far away and due to old age. There was no way for her ruin of a body to be transported this far and anyway, Maekar couldn't bear the thought of her suffering more bleedings and cuts, and maesters in death after she had suffered so many of those in life.

The silence was even more terrifying now. It wrapped itself around the castle, stifled any attempts of life to rise back from the ashes of her pyre. If Mariah had thought the silence before unbearable, she was soon dissuaded of this notion. Before, there had been the rustling of sheets, the low voices of maesters giving orders for yet another potion or bandage, the rush of softly-stepping handmaidens going to fetch what their lady needed, the barely audible noises of Mariah's grandsons trying to sneak into their mother's chambers against everyone's wishes, the younger children's innocent games and the babe's wailing, Maekar striding impatiently, even if soundlessly, into Dyanna's bedchamber, hoping to be informed of an improvement that never came. Now, there was only the silence of finality. There was no one needing quiet and attention. Even Aemon and Daella felt that something was going on and had stopped their usual loud games, crying for their mother from time to time. Those who had arrived to honour Dyanna one last time were gone now as well – and Mariah had been surprised by the fact that the grief of so many of those had looked sincere. Daeron had been right to send Maekar and Dyanna here. Dyanna's charm and alertness of mind had been a great asset to this ever restless region. What would happen from now on? Oh Mariah knew that her son would keep doing his best to be a good and fair ruler but somehow, it wasn't enough. It never was with him. Without Dyanna, the frail bonds ensuring the peace in the region and its loyalty to the Iron Throne would be severely compromised before they ever had the chance to go.

"She will be sorely missed," Jena murmured, confirming her goodmother's fears.

Anyway, Mariah's worst fears were not about the stability of the region. She was desperately worried about Maekar and her grandchildren. With the children, she could at least see them; when she managed to see Maekar, it felt like a great achievement, followed by a few words until he could make his escape. And even that stopped about two weeks after Dyanna's death as well.

"Listen," Maekar said, clearly spoken and direct as usual. "If you can needle or coerce any more of my people to grand access to my chambers, I'll evict them from Summerhall. You can take them to King's Landing or leave them to make their living in another way. But I won't suffer any disloyalty here, even for your sake."

 _As if I'm an enemy of yours_ , Mariah thought and willed her tears back because sobbing would solve nothing. _As if I'm only trying to cause you harm._

After this, she, of course, accepted that meetings by chance or cornering him would have to do. Once or twice, he asked her to keep an eye over the children and she agreed. In fact, she was glad that he'd stay away from them. Seeing him like this was the last thing they needed. But she didn't think he included Rhae in his plea. It was as if to him, she simply wasn't there. That caused a new flow of tears that made him uncomfortable, clearly, so he spun back and left.

Of course, that didn't mean that she was unaware of what was going on with him. But it could hardly set her mind at rest. He woke up at dawn and read the first missives from King's Landing and the other regions of the realm as he broke his fast. Then, he summoned the main officials of the castle to inquiry as to their concerns and suggestions about Summerhall before turning his mind to the dealings of the very region which consumed much of his time, interrupted only by a ride that left the few seasoned men he took with him looking bedraggled and gasping for air when they would finally come back. Mariah's handmaidens who traded gossips with those in Summerhall who, in turn, were close to the grooms, informed her that everyone in the stables was now afraid of those rides. It was a matter of time before Maekar caused some horses harm that could not be repaired. _And himself as well?_ Mariah wondered but of course, she couldn't say anything. She poured her concern in long letters to King's Landing that she knew would get Daeron even more worried than her but she couldn't help it. In those long years, she had become accustomed to share her worries with him before everyone else. And anyway, no amount of concern was unguaranteed. Of course, she also warned him repeatedly to not mention any of this in his letters to Maekar. Right now, no concern was welcomed. In fact, she expected that should she show any, Maekar would show her the door. _Is it my fault_ , she often wondered as she paced the yards and gardens at night followed by Ser Willem Wylde. _Once, I didn't have the time for him and he taught himself to do without me; now, he doesn't need anyone but he cannot get out of the trap he's gotten himself in…_

She found great relief in her ever strengthening observations that the babe, for some unknown blessing of the Mother, had escaped the curse of the time spent in the near vicinity of the disease that had killed her mother. She could raisew her head a little and even turn it when a favourite toy was rattled. When Mariah moved her head, looking Rhae close in the eye, the little girl followed her grandmother's eye. But the only person Mariah could share her relief with was Jena. Most of her ladies felt uncomfortable with everything regarding the newborn and the wetnurse was clearly afraid of her. Despite all efforts to stifle the truth about Dyanna's agony, rumours had gotten out, exaggerating the actual severity of the situation and widening the disfigurement of Dyanna's breast to her lovely face. The babe was generally seen as a bad omen. Child of the Stranger, rumours called her, although Mariah vowed to have everyone she heard spreading those sobriquets flogged.

Two months after Dyanna's death, she was surprised and hopeful when Maekar entered her solar in the evening. "We're leaving for King's Landing in a week if that suits you," he said briefly and Mariah couldn't say if he suspected her hand in the last letter Daeron had sent him. The celebrations marking her king's seventeenth year on the throne were something that Maekar would not like attending but Mariah had already decided that everyone needed change, and she was aware of his likeliest reaction if she suggested that they go to King's Landing. He'd simply suggest that she went on her own.

Even the journey was riddled with darkness and rejection. Before, Mariah had always been able to convince him to keep her at least some company in the wheelhouse. Not this time. He rode before the party, came back, spurred his sand steed again, spending himself and Desert Wind to full exhaustion. At one point, even the stallion's famed endurance could not compete with the power of the rage still bubbling up in Maekar. Peasants and merchants were quick to jump out of his way and his face, stormier than the storms that didn't deter him, scared everyone into retreat. Where they left, the rumours about the harsh and cruel dragon were already building up.

"By the Seven!" was Daeron's reaction when they were first left alone after her return to the capital.

Mariah bit her lip. She'd been hoping to hear that she was exaggerating, that it wasn't _this_ bad. But this was not to be.

"Is he this… angry all the time?"

Of course, Daeron had gotten to the core of it immediately. Mariah nodded. Maekar was furious that Dyanna had died. There was grief, of course, but fury was the leading emotion, filling the void that she had left. And fury could be much more soul-scorching than grief.

"Yes," she said. "He and Ultor Dayne started a horrible quarrel in the very day of her pyre. It came to… fists."

The last words came out in whisper, against her will. It had felt disrespectful to Dyanna. It still did.

Daeron stared at her and she felt a flutter of relief. At least this piece of gossip hadn't come out, although why not, she could not say. They had started it before a good deal of lords and ladies.

Daeron sighed and drew her close. "Come here," he said and she went readily. "He'll be fine at the end. He doesn't have a choice. And he's still twenty seven. He can't go on like this forever."

She wasn't convinced. "Can't he?" she asked and Daeron started rubbing her stiff shoulders. He didn't answer. If someone could cling to grim despair for a very long time, it was Maekar. He didn't have the gift of finding the bright things in life.

"He doesn't even look at the babe," Mariah murmured, so relieved to finally be able to say it to someone other than Jena.

Daeron's hands paused. "We will," he finally said. "Until he can finally do it."

"Yes," Mariah sighed and decided that the first thing she'd do would be finding Rhae a new wetnurse. Without telling Maekar, of course. Even if he noticed the change, he was likely to direct his anger at the poor girl whose only true fault was bearing witness to Dyanna's prolonged death, seeing the damaged cord and afterbirth and harbouring the entirely understandable fear for herself.

* * *

There were two days left till the beginning of the celebrations and the city was filling with lords and officials hurrying to show their respect. Maekar smiled sarcastically at seeing just how many of those had proclaimed for Daemon just a few years ago. Those were the most ardent ones, hoping that their treachery would be truly forgotten. The fact that they were treated like guests, accommodated and welcomed made him grind his teeth. It was disrespect to all those who had fallen – at least it felt like one. He said so to Baelor who didn't agree.

"They didn't die so that we can keep punishing the Seven Kingdoms for the sins of those who committed them," he said. "They died so their children could live in peace and prosperity under Father's rule. We cannot hold on grudges forever, Brother."

But something in the set of his mouth when he eyed Gormon Peake suggested to Maekar that it was himself that he was trying to convince, rather than Maekar.

"Aren't you going to be generous and forgiving now as well?" he asked.

"The Stranger take him," Baelor said without thinking and Maekar nodded. A few years ago, he would have been amused by this hole in the armour of the Perfect Prince Baelor was teaching himself to be, the one they had nicknamed him in their childhood. Now, he only felt some grim satisfaction that he wasn't the only one who still craved blood, although, of course, he wouldn't go for it.

" _Not the only one,"_ he could almost hear Dyanna's voice. _"I also wish they could have gotten their due. But it can't be. That's the way of the world."_

" _And is the way of the world that you should die?"_ he wanted to ask. " _Die like this?"_

To this, she couldn't give him an answer. No one could.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he told Baelor, turning abruptly and leaving. In the courtyard, he met Lord Peake's eye and wondered how anyone could think that the man had repented.

* * *

The day was a grey and windy one. In the streets, men and women hurried home without stopping to exchange a few words with their friends in the open and Maekar entered the Great Sept of Baelor under a darkening sky threatening to crush the whole enormous city under its weight.

Desert Wind neighed and pressed his nose against Maekar's palm. He disliked being tended by people he didn't know and the young servant in the sept that took his reins clearly disliked the proximity of the dark flame of a sand steed, with fire in his eyes and derision in his snort. "I'll be back soon, Wind," Maekar promised but the stallion didn't look convinced. Lately, he'd been showing some decline in his love for his rider. Perhaps Maekar had been too harsh on him.

The Hall of Lamps was quiet, despite the crowd of worshippers. Maekar was quickly led into the living quarters, where the private sept of the High Septon was located. Not for the first time, he thought that the late King Baelor had given too much credit to matters of faith and not nearly enough to those of state. The splendour of the High Septon's chambers could put the King to shame. Maekar quickly reprimanded himself for ever letting such a thought creep into his mind. Especially when he had come to seek the man's advice.

In the glint of coloured glass, gilding, and bright candles the statues of the Seven were barely noticeable. The High Septon, though, would stand out in every crowd. Not too tall, extremely gaunt with fasting, with a head that was almost bald, he caught people's attention with the light of devotion burning in his eyes. He looked like someone who knew all the answers as he motioned Maekar down to a bench. "Why are you here, Your Grace? How can I be of any use?"

Maekar was an honest man and he went straight to the core of the matter. "You know that my lady died."

The old man nodded. "To the grief of the whole realm, I know. She was a lady of worth. Always generous, always charitable. Always ready to advocate for peace."

"She didn't find much peace at the end, did she?"

That sounded harsher than Maekar had intended, and the High Septon startled. By the Seven, now he had scared the man, too? His rage was getting out of control.

"She has surely found it now."

 _Oh this!_ He had known that at some point, he'd hear this, although his mother wasn't stupid enough to say so. Even Rhaegel, with his broken mind and gentle soul, knew what would not give him any comfort at all. _No, I take that back. Especially Rhaegel._ His brother might be the least fit of them to live in this world but he was also extremely empathetic which made him far wiser than many others. Rhaegel felt things that others struggled to comprehend. He was the only one whose presence Maekar could tolerate now.

"She didn't find it in life," he said again. "Why was this? Why did the Seven choose her to suffer so? And in such young age? You know that those who get this are old women. You must know this. What was the worth of it?"

For a long time, there was silence. The High Septon was trying to gather his thoughts into words and Maekar felt a soothing anticipation of a forthcoming relief. Soon, he would know, so he could find some peace, something to cling to… and then, the old man spoke. "No man can truly understand the workings of the gods, Your Grace. I am only their humble servant. It isn't given to me to say what roads they choose to impose their will but I know it's their will."

 _So it's their will that she died like someone coming from the black cells to be tortured and die of their wounds just because it was their will?_ Silently, Maekar rose and headed for the door. The High Septon said something after him, question in his rising voice but Maekar didn't turn back. At this moment, he dubbed the man of little use. Just someone who spoke beautifully but without saying anything when it mattered. Once again, Maekar was left with the burning question why. What justice was there in this world of silks and prayers, wars and words building bridges? What did the Seven do? Why had they not granted Dyanna even the mercy of seeing her child, hearing her voice, knowing that at least there was a reason that she'd die?

On the outside, the grey clouds had turned into a curtain of rain pressing the city with the weight of the world. Even going through the grassed yard was a struggle but Maekar spurred Desert Wind anyway and the faithful mount obeyed. They left King's Landing under the disbelieving stares of a few late men hurrying home and the paupers trying to find shelter in doorways and under bridges.

Later, Maekar couldn't remember this day fully. There were only flashes: the mud, the realization that no one could give him any answers, that he'd have to keep going only with what he could do for his own escape from this hell, the curtain of rain that sometimes obscured his view inches away from his nose, Wind straining beneath him to keep up with the furious rhythm that kept his rider going, his own angry retorts to his men's timid suggestions that they went back before any of them or the horses broke a foot… The tears streaming down his face and his shouted anger at the world that was such an evil and unjust place… The hands washing him with hot wet towels so he'd not catch his death from cold…

He woke up two days later, rubbed his eyes, looked around wondering how he had found himself in his own bedchamber in the Red Keep. In the light of the single candle, Rhaegel rose and came at his bedside.

"Welcome back," he said after giving him a long look and somehow, Maekar knew that his brother didn't mean just his recovery after the madness with the rain gallop.

It was still very early in the morning when he asked to be admitted to his mother's chambers. The fact that the handmaidens didn't even bother telling him that they'd check if the Queen was already awake but let him in immediately made him feel a twist of guilt.

Just as he had expected, his mother was sitting with a cup of tea, reading her letters. It was a habit that he had picked up from her, after all. Upon seeing him, surprise crossed her features and she quickly rose to meet him. He took her hand and kissed it, keeping it longer, feeling her relief.

"I knew you wouldn't be asleep, Mother," he said, looking at the door. "I suppose Father is gone already?"

She nodded, still not releasing his hand. "I'm so happy to see you, Maekar," she breathed. "I am."

He looked away, guilt rising. "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry for worrying you like this. But I couldn't help it. It was hell that I couldn't get out of."

This was the first time he spoke about his feelings so clearly. He was a firm believer that there was no need to state the obvious. He had never spoken about his love for Dyanna either yet she had known before he had.

"I understand," she murmured, drawing the fingers of her other hand along the arm she was still holding. "It was so hard for you."

"It was." He hesitated. "I'm afraid I made it much harder for the rest of you. But it's over now." He paused. "Would you show me the babe?"

She stared at him, her heart suddenly beating faster. But she managed to keep her calm. "Here, come with me."

Rhae had been installed in a chamber adjacent to Mariah's own bedchamber. That was where Maekar and his brothers had spent the first months of their lives as well, or at least those of them who had been born at King's Landing. A young girl was just reaching to place the child back in the cradle but hesitated when she saw the Queen. Usually, Mariah wished to hold her granddaughter if she wasn't asleep.

Mariah paused and looked at her son, unsure what to do, not wanting to push him beyond the limits that she still hadn't examined. For a moment, the three of them stayed in this awkward pose before Maekar stepped forward, reaching out to take his daughter. Without thinking, the girl adjusted Rhae in his arms, rattling out a warning. "She can already keep her head up, mostly, but she sometimes jerks like…"

Her voice faded when she realized that of course, the Prince would know that. To her, this was the second child she was taking care of but to him, it was his fifth, or was it sixth? Faint blush crept up her cheeks when she realized that she had been lecturing him.

Maekar didn't really listen. Instead, he was staring down into the eyes that held his own without looking away as the eyes of babies sometimes did. He had never seen the child before today. The occasions when he had come upon her with her nursemaid, his mother, or Jena didn't count. Rhae had creamy skin, wet lips, and a tuff of black hair. _She'll look like Dyanna_ , he thought with some surprise _. Just like Daella will._ None of their sons had taken their mother's black hair. He was glad that his girls had. He touched the small face and Rhae immediately tried to suck on his finger.

He leaned over the cradle and placed the babe there carefully. The nursemaid made a motion to go over and cover Rhae but Mariah waved her back.

"Is it fine?" the young woman whispered nervously. She had heard the rumours that the Prince took no interest in his daughter – what, she had seen that they were true – and she was now following his movements with an anxious eye.

"It's fine," Mariah said, a sigh so deep that it too her whole lungs out shaking her. "It will be fine. At last."

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
